A Wizard Out of Hell
by harrys-sad-fish
Summary: Voldemort returns, and his reign of terror begins. How will Harry proceed?
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat tensely in the paisley patterned love seat in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive. He had been watching the television for three hours, hypnotized by the horror unfolding on the large screen. The news reporter grasped his microphone, shouting into it over the noise and madness bursting forth from behind him. Crowds of muggles were running through the streets, caught on video by a helicopter camera. Hysteria, chaos. Every now and then a trampled person could be seen on the video footage, struggling for safety. Finally, the television showed what they were all running from. Harry was not surprised.

Harry Potter was in a precarious position. Stuck in the Dursley's house until he turned seventeen, fortunately only two days away, he had nothing to do but stare at the television, and silently plot his course for once he came of age. Of course, the Dursley's would never had allowed Harry to watch the news, as they believed it would only aggravate his "condition." However, the Dursley's were not able to shunt him from the room as they once had, for they had frantically left town the week before out of fear for what was being done to the muggles they had seen in the newspapers and on the news. This terror overrode their abhorrence for Harry and the thought of leaving him alone in their house.

They had not invited him to come along, even. With the trunk of the station wagon packed to the brim, Dudley with his portable DVD player clutched to his chest, Aunt Petunia with her horsy grimace, and Uncle Vernon with his unnaturally purple and worried face, the Dursley's sped down Privet Drive, without looking back even once. Harry thought he would have been relieved by their absence; in fact, it had been a dream of his since he could remember. Nevertheless, the house was extremely silent and lonely now, and he could only count down the days until he would be free to leave for good, free to use magic to defend himself, free to follow Voldemort and avenge himself upon the destroyer of his happiness.

Harry sat glued to the program, listening to the cacophony of screams and crying. Then it came. He knew it would. There was no need to hide any more, to work under cover. The giant foot crashed down upon the hurrying people, like a child attacking an ant hill. The broad foot, as big as a boat, fell without discrimination, trampling cars, buildings, and people alike. The giants had been let loose. The city of London was under siege by enemies that it didn't even know existed. Voldemort's efforts, in effect since his weak return six years ago, were no longer covert. His minions, his gathered armies of grotesque beasts and maniacal wizards, tramped through the streets, destroying at will. The video footage was unedited, the action was live. Harry sat bolt upright, as he recognized a figure coming up behind the news reporter. He wanted to scream, to warn the man of what was going to happen. The horrible face of Fenrir Greyback emerged, the snout covered in blood. The reporter turned around only to encounter the werewolf's open mouth. Then the live feed died.

Harry looked down at his hands, clenched and shaking violently. Two more days. Just two more.


	2. Chapter 2

He walked over to the television and hit the power switch. The only sound in the room was the pounding in his brain. He was angry with himself and his inability to stop what was going on outside. He had promised Dumbledore that he would stay at Number 4, Privet Drive, and receive the last ounce of available protection from the charm placed on the house 17 years ago. Harry decided that he might as well make his final preparations for his departure.

He marched up the stairs to his room, the cramped guest bedroom that he had occupied for five years. Clothes, books, and newspapers lay scattered across the hardwood floor. He hadn't bothered to clean for two months, allowing the mess to accrue. Nor had he thought of moving to one of the larger rooms. This was the closest place he had to home, this room which he had been locked up in goodness knows how many times. This was the single room in the house in which he had ever felt comfortable. He flipped through some of his happier memories here, birthday cakes from Hermione and Hagrid which had sustained him through the Dudley's communal grapefruit diet, the letters of encouragement he had received every summer since he had first attended Hogwarts, where he had often written to Sirius, his late godfather, about his scar. He had to protect those memories and defend the people who had been instrumental in their creation.

Harry sat down at his desk and picked up the eagle feather. He licked the tip and dipped it in the open inkwell. Pulling a piece of parchment from a stack, he began:

Ron-

Hey mate. I've been thinking more and more about what you said, when school got out. About how you'd help me wherever I went. I think that I am going to accept your offer, and I'd like to begin soon-- in three days if possible. I warn you to pack light. And don't tell Ginny or your mum about it. You know how they'd worry. We can send word back after we've left, so we can avoid confrontations. I know Hermione is staying with your family right now, due to the riots going on. Please tell her… I would like her to come too, if she is still up for it. I know that this is sudden… that I haven't answered any letters for a while. But I've had my reasons, and I am finally ready to get this over with. I will be arriving by fireplace on Saturday, and then I want to leave immediately for Godric's Hollow. See you then mate.

-Harry

He looked over at the empty cage nearby. Hedwig still hadn't returned. It had been three weeks, and he had given her up for dead. He hoped that she was alright, though, even if he knew it wasn't realistic. So much pointless loss, he thought. He got up, approached his trunk, and looked inside. He realized that he didn't have much packing to do; he intended to travel with only a knapsack, with some provisions and a change of clothes. He didn't even have his invisibility cloak; he had left it in the tower after… Dumbledore. His eyes misted, and for the first time since he had returned to Privet Drive, he gave himself over to unbridled mourning. Hot tears erupted and his heart let out a silent lugubrious scream.

Sitting on his bed, he didn't notice the barn owl that arrived with the copy of "The Daily Prophet". He had kept his subscription, and the paper had kept publishing, although the articles had gotten shorter and less varied. The headlines tended to replicate the theme of "Voldemort returned, Wreaking Havoc on Both Worlds". The large bird hopped onto the floor. Harry took the letter he had written, and strapped it onto the owl's leg in place of the newspaper. The bird looked disgruntled, but flew off regardless. Harry hoped that the letter would be delivered. Time was almost up.


	3. Chapter 3

He lay on his bed, watching the light outside his window dissolve slowly into darkness. He did not bother to get up, to turn on the lights. Instead he took solace in the quiet emptiness, and he let himself sink into deep thought. He felt very mature and brave in his isolation, ashamedly so, shocked by this instant of self-appraisal. He _was_ brave; he had faced more than anyone his age had or even ought to. He was proud of his seclusion, his uniqueness. He, Harry Potter, was the only one who could face and defeat Lord Voldemort, the most powerful living wizard.

_Scraaaatttchh…_

Harry was snatched from his reverie. He heard it again, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, moving sinuously through the house. A timid sound, yet one that brought with it a sense of dread. Harry sat up on his bed, and reached for his wand on the bedside table. _Underage magic be damned_ he thought, as he ignited the tip of his wand with a silent spell. The scratching had grown louder, pervading the emptiness like a noxious gas. Harry carefully moved towards the door of his room, wand held high and ready.

He peered into the deserted hallway, his heart beginning to race. The scratching had evolved into a swishing sound, like a cloak being trailed behind a feeble body. Suddenly, Harry remembered that inside this house, until the day of his seventeenth birthday, he was protected by strong magic. The sound, then, must be coming from outside. In his curiosity, that dangerous trait that he had exercised throughout his years at Hogwarts, he approached the front door, unbolted it, and proceeded to open it. His mouth dropped in horror at the sight, so close to home, much closer than on the news.

Privet Drive was crawling. Literally, the paved streets were alive with writhing movement. Harry directed his wand at the ground, and grew faint with comprehension. All of his neighbors, hundreds of muggles, were lying on the ground, bloody and disheveled. The doors to their houses all stood open, as though they had been dragged from their slumber into a hellish reality. Harry ran to the nearest human form. It was Mr. Sanders, of number 5, and it looked as though his arms had been broken. Harry felt his pulse—it was still beating, feebly however. A sense of utter futility swept over him, as he realized that it would take a dozen Madam Pomfreys to rectify such a dire situation. And as he knelt, gazing into the pale face of his neighbor, Harry was suddenly knocked over by a powerful force. He recovered himself, and turned to look at what had hit him. He grasped his wand tightly, and thought, _so it begins_.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry got quickly to his feet, never taking his eyes from the face in front of him. Ghastly pale, dark haunted eyes, hollow cheeks. Fangs. The vampire leered at him, licking his lips. Harry was caught off guard by the handsome creature in front of him. The deep, glowing eyes beckoned to him, calling him to follow a path foreordained by the darkness. Harry found himself being drawn towards the demon. One pace, then another, until he was finally standing right before it. The vampire smiled, opening his fine mouth wider and wider, until—

"Wotcher Harry!" yelled a familiar voice. Nymphadora Tonks hurtled into the cloaked figure, simultaneously knocking Harry out of his reverie. She pulled a sharp wooden stake out of her cloak, thrusting it deep into the billowing robes. The vampire erupted into dust, sprinkling the vicinity with a fine red powder.

"Take care with those 'uns, Harry. Can never trust a vampire. Dangerous fellows, they are. Never thought I'd have to fight 'em myself, though. I've taken to carrying stakes around with me wherever I go. Talk about a girl's best friend!"

Harry shook his head vigorously, still recollecting the vampire's intoxicating gaze. He looked up at Tonks. Her hair was long and blonde, hanging to her waste and curled at the tips. Her face was rosier than he had remembered, her lips much more crimson than before. In fact, she was quite a stunner!

"Tonks, thank you for…for…well, for you know. I don't know what happened back there. Why are you here? What's going on? What did they do to my neighbors? How many vampires are there? Why do you look like that? Where's everyone else? What am I—"

"Oi! Harry! Calm down! We have to get out of here before I can start answering those questions. You see, the vampires will be flocking here to feed off of their fallen brother. Not to mention these sorry blokes…" Tonks looked around at the mass of bodies which was writhing slowly and was glazed in a red bloody glow. She leaned down to a small boy at her feet, and checked his pulse.

"Gone. I'm sorry Harry. There's really nothing we can do for them. I don't know much about muggle healing…or magical healing, at that. They'll be here any moment, and I know _I_ don't want to witness the blood fest that will happen then."

Harry looked at the ground, then his eyes wandered to the boy that Tonks had pronounced dead. He clenched his fists. "No. I won't. NO! I can't just leave them all here to die! Look! Look, what is all this for? Why is this boy dead? Why did they attack my neighbors? I'LL TELL YOU WHY! BECAUSE OF ME! ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF ME!"

Tonks grabbed Harry's shoulders, shaking him gently. "No Harry, these people are going to die because Voldemort deems it so. His will is getting stronger. Every day, he can kill more and more, arbitrating life and death. That's why you need to go. You need to find him. You need to end this." Harry nodded, but couldn't tear his gaze away from the small, lifeless face. "What about the order?" Harry asked. "Can't they come take care of this? Of these people? And defend them from the vampires?" Tonks shook her head sadly, "I'm afraid that the order is already spread out around England, fighting where they can. I was the only one who could come tonight. They sent me because they had heard of an underground vampire movement and thought that they might come after you. And I really don't think the two of us can take them all on by ourselves. I'm really sorry Harry…you know I am."

Suddenly, Harry remembered what he had arranged with Ron. "Tonks, I need to get to The Burrow. I was going to wait a couple of days, but I think I'd like to go now. Can you take me?"

Tonks nodded and said, "Alright, let's go get your things then."


End file.
